Guest Blogger: Diana Castilleja / Diana DeRicci

Getting Dirty with Diana

OMG!! I do NOT believe it! It’s here! I’m out! Well, the book is anyway… Ah heck, who am I kidding? I’m out too! Diana DeRicci is officially published! Woot!

This story has a bit of a background to it. Coming from me, that really shouldn’t be all that much of a surprise. Shar’s story happened because of a writing challenge. Yep, I had strong-arming, uh, make that caring friends who basically said I needed to get off my patootie and write. So I did. Shar is what happened because of that challenge.

After roughly a month of their whipping, uh I mean, supportive encouragement, she was done and submitted. The oddity about this story is a) I couldn’t edit and write—It was a straight through ordeal. That almost killed me. I have to tinker. I think I have some tinker in the family tree… Anyway, back to this: b) I sent it in raw. I didn’t do any self editing on it. It was read, I made those suggestions and then blammo! It was submitted.

Talk about being out of my comfort zone. Whew! But I’m really happy with the story that came out of that dare and challenge. And if all things work in my favor, it won’t be the only book set in Granier Falls! I really hope as the first book for this idea series that you enjoy it.

Let me give you a little about it….

Shar Brenna is a hard-working woman, a respected member of her witch Kin clan. At least until she’s held under suspicion of arson by the local police for the demise of Mystic, a Kin hotspot for the witch clans in Granier Falls.

As clues bring dangers bearing down on her and more of her friends begin to look as though they are in jeopardy too, she must find out who was behind the fire and then face the hunters who are determined to capture a witch.

Fleeing has never been her style when fighting back is so much more satisfying.
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Excerpt:
She nudged the wooden door open, slipping in without making any noise. She spotted him, his back to the door, hunched over a table. A blue light was illuminating his shape and a sound, like the hum of a bumblebee reached her.

He was crafting something. An awed shiver hit her skin. She’d rarely seen him do it, but there was something so beautiful in what he could do, how he could manipulate metal to any shape. Biting her lip, keeping quiet to stay undiscovered, she slunk in to watch him.

The piece he was working on was recessed in a well, held up by spokes on a rotating wheel so he could do different sections. There was a faint sheen along his hairline, sweat that attested to his concentration for perfection. Muscles rippled beneath his t-shirt as he moved ever so slowly, a dance of timed orchestration with his hands over the metal blank in the well. His boot heels were hooked to the bottom rung of the simple black stool he sat on, his thighs thick and taut in the press of his faded jeans.

This time she licked her lip rather than bite it, feeling her heart pick up in appreciation of the male form. Black hair was pushed back, nearly to his shoulders. Her fingers tingled remembering it, the way it felt, the heat that had seared her as she’d held on to him.

While he’d kissed me. Her lids fluttered closed, and more then the memory of her hands in his hair returned. She drew a steadying breath, surprised with herself. What was going on? Since when had the sight of Trajan in jeans ever made her feel gooey inside?

The immediate thought of him out of those jeans made her quiver. She swallowed. It had to be that damn kiss. Okay, all of them. The man had something going for him, that was for sure. She’d hoped after he’d left her that morning she’d ensured she’d located all her lost marbles misplaced from their first kiss in her kitchen. From the look of things, and damn but did they look good, her marbles were gone for the duration.

Biceps twitched. The light extinguished and he let out a breath. He reached upward stretching and Shar got a full side view of his torso. He stood and stripped the t-shirt, stretching once more then sat down. Adjusting the rim blank in the frame well then locking it into place again between the spokes, he focused again.

Blood pulsed against her skin, warming her as he began to work. He was beautiful. The sheen on his back made him look god-like. Muscle and sinew moved and danced in unity with the precise motions of his hands. The slow, graceful tension of his hands as they sculpted the image mid-air, coercing his magic to duplicate his wishes into the metal. It was mind over matter and there wasn’t an ore or metal on the planet that wouldn’t fall to Trajan’s persuasion. Some could bend water, or even create heat or freezing cold like her own ability, yet what he did was phenomenally rare among their clan. The sheer creative genius was what created a demand for his work. She knew what he did was strenuous, but the visual looked effortless, as an edge, then a shape on the rim blank began to appear beneath his hands. Pieces fell free with a muted clang as cuts and trims created debris, falling into the basin of the frame.

She hated to disturb him, knowing she should have when he’d stopped. She didn’t want him to have an error either because she had to break into his concentration.

Instead of calling out to him, she slowly walked up his side, where he’d see her in his peripheral vision. Closer and closer until she was sure he had to know she was there. His focus was relentless though. He never looked up.

“Trajan?” she whispered.

The light and the precise cutting stopped at the same time he shot out a hand and captured one of hers beneath his.

She squealed in surprise.

He yanked her to his side, pinning her against his taut body. “‘Bout time you said something,” he growled. The roughness in his voice sparked down her spine like a livewire. He found her chin with his other hand and tipped her up. Before she could speak, he claimed her lips.